


Fill Up the Air Balloon

by Hakanaki



Series: Sound of Pulling Heaven Down [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Dry Orgasm, Gags, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hakanaki/pseuds/Hakanaki
Summary: The neighbors would never talk to them again if they knew the kind of depravity that went on in the bedroom, Wash thinks hysterically, biting back a yelp the next time Tucker’s hand comes down on his ass.





	Fill Up the Air Balloon

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FRIENDS AND WELCOME TO THE DOMESTIC TUCKINGTON BDSM AU NO ONE ASKED FOR!! I have... many ideas for this universe lol so I hope you enjoy it!

_Fill up the air balloon and ride with me_  
_Yeah hell is jealous of the rain (rain)_  
_Make love like time and space is ending_  
_While befriending fate's alluring way of putting us to shame_

* * *

  
There’s a normal house on the corner of a street in an unassuming neighborhood. The school district is good and the commute to work isn’t anywhere as hellish as it could be. The neighbors are decent people--there’s porch conversations and barbecues and even the occasional baked good.

The neighbors would never talk to them again if they knew the kind of depravity that went on in the bedroom, Wash thinks hysterically, biting back a yelp the next time Tucker’s hand comes down on his ass.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he pants, dropping his head onto the pillow.

Tucker spanks him again, on the other cheek this time, the tip of his fingers catching the crease of his thigh. The sting prickles up his entire spine like a million tiny thunderbolts, and Wash arches his back an extra inch, tugging at the aqua rope that keeps him anchored to the bed frame. His dick twitches against his stomach, painfully hard and straining against the matching cock ring settled nice and snug at its base.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep quiet?” Tucker asks, smoothing his hand over his ass. He’s using that _voice_ tonight, the one that Wash usually can’t help but obey. Right now, though… “It’s like you’re _asking_ me to punish you,” Tucker continues, grabbing his left ass cheek and squeezing. “Do I need to break out the gag?” There’s a waver in his voice. Wash isn’t the only one interested in pushing boundaries tonight, apparently.

“You, ah,” Wash starts, shivering as Tucker twists slick fingers back into him, dragging slow and maddening against his inner walls. “You love the sound of my voice,” he quips, dragging his head off of the pillow.

Tucker’s palm comes down once, twice, on either side of his ass and Wash groans. Those fingers leave him empty as quick as they came and he feels the mattress shift as Tucker leans over the side of the bed to dig through the box of toys he’d dragged out for tonight. Wash knows better than to turn his head and look at whatever he’s grabbing.

“Smartass,” Tucker says finally, but there’s affection there, woven into the warm timber of his voice. Tucker grabs his chin and roughly angles his face, pulling him into a bruising kiss over his shoulder. Wash moans, far past the point of caring about breaking the rules as he sucks on Tucker’s tongue. Tucker tastes as desperate as he feels. When they part, Tucker dangles the new toys in front of him, hand still cupping his chin, squeezing right beneath his jaw.

“How’re we doing?”

Wash blinks--he’d expected the ball gag, but not the vibrator. He licks his lips, swallowing hard.

“Green,” he says quickly, watching the way the bright aqua silicone gag sways in Tucker’s grasp. “ _So_ green.”

Tucker wastes no time getting it secured around his head. Once it’s in place, Wash tongues the ball experimentally, something primal turning to liquid gold somewhere in his lower belly. He almost misses Tucker sliding the plastic button into his hand.

“You know the rules. You push the button if it gets to be too much, if the gag hurts your jaw, whatever you need.”

Wash nods, tucking the button against his palm in a way that he won’t accidentally squeeze it. Nothing ruins the mood quite like the canned laughter the thing emits when pressed. Tucker ripped it out of an insufferable toy of Junior’s as soon as he was sure Junior wouldn’t notice.

“Now,” Tucker continues. His voice has dipped low again, smooth and commanding. It runs up Wash’s spine like rivulets of cool satin, making the hair on the back of his neck raise in anticipation. “You need to be punished for mouthing off, _Washington,_ ” he drawls, one hand wrapping around Wash’s hip. “I’m thinking fifteen more spankings. Nod if you agree.”

Wash nods frantically, making the motion as big as his compromised position allows. Tucker smooths a hand up his side in cursory acknowledgment.

“But I don’t think that’s enough for you, is it?” Tucker says, shifting behind him so he can lean over and breathe against his ear. “I think you’re a little too good at taking my hand. We’ll have to fix that later.” He nips once at Wash’s left earlobe, right below the lone freckle on the shell of his ear, and then pulls away.

Something cold nudges against his entrance, where he’s already slick and open from Tucker’s fingers. Wash can’t swallow his whimper down around the gag, and he presses his hips back insistently.

“Yeah, I know you like it when I don’t warm up the lube,” Tucker says, his voice cocky in the way that drives Wash crazy even outside of the bedroom. He continues to press the vibrator inside of him until it settles just shy of his prostate.

“Here are the rules. You’ll take your spanking with the vibrator on, and if you’re good, I’ll fuck you. If you cum before I say, the vibrator stays on until you’re all worked up again, and you’ll put that mouth of yours to better use. You won’t get to cum again. Nod if you’re green.”

Wash groans, a broken sound muffled by aqua silicone. Tucker’s voice goes right to his lower belly, pulling at his hips and groin. His dick twitches against his stomach, hard and aching for release.

“Wash?”

Tucker’s voice is losing that commanding edge to it, worry creeping into the edges. Wash nods enthusiastically, squirming a little as he shuffles his knees.

“Good.”

Tucker’s hand tugs at his hair for a moment, just enough to draw another whimper from Wash’s throat, then presses down his back, firm and in control. He gives the vibrator one, two pumps in Wash’s ass, twisting it as he pushes back in, before turning it on medium. Wash gasps, letting his forehead press back into the pillow.

“Let’s get started.”

The first smack is solid, right at the top of his ass, catching his hip, and Wash groans helplessly against the gag when the sting rushes through him a half second later. The next few stay high, giving equal attention to both cheeks, before Tucker starts moving lower. Wash feels his ass bounce with the force of the impact, the pain deeper and _throbby_ in the most delicious way where Tucker had administered his previous smacks. His ass will be a gradient of marks later, and Wash shivers thinking about it.

After the fifth time Tucker’s hand comes down on his ass, he turns the vibrator up a few notches. Wash moans, low and long, and lets his upper body sink lower, suspended only by the restraints keeping him secured to the bed frame. The shift in position pushes his ass up and out, and Tucker’s next slap comes down on the sensitive crease between his ass and thigh. Wash cries out, tugging mindlessly at the restraints, trying to push back, to chase the sensation.

“ _Fuck,_ Wash,” Tucker groans, smoothing his hand over overheated, oversensitive skin. “You look so fucking good right now. You’re taking it so good, baby,” he says, whipping his hand back and catching him on the other cheek, in the same area. Wash practically sobs, the pain dancing through his nerves. “I think we found your sweet spot.”

Hits eight, nine, and ten crack across the same spot in quick succession, leaving Wash panting and drooling, mind consumed with nothing more complex than physical sensation.

“You’re doing so well,” Tucker praises, grabbing at his ass with both hands, kneading the abused flesh. Wash whimpers at the vibrator shifts inside of him, gasping when it brushes over his prostate for just a moment. “Just a little more,” Tucker reassures him, giving him a few more thrusts of the vibrator. He rotates it until it presses right against that bundle of nerves again, and then cranks it up even higher. “Final stretch, baby.”

Wash jerks and twitches, shouting against the gag. His dick twitches against his stomach urgently, and he wants to cum so badly it _hurts_ , but it hurts so good to wait, to be good for Tucker.

The next three spankings come down ruthlessly, dead center, Tucker’s hand hitting both cheeks at once as it moves down the cleft of his ass. The lower he goes, the more each smack pushes the vibrator even deeper, until Wash swears his teeth are vibrating. He is far past feeling the sting, each slap nothing but pure pleasure up and down his spine, an electric feedback loop completed by the buzz of the vibrator against his prostate.

Number fourteen comes down _hard._

Wash cries out, squirming as his thighs clench with the effort of trying not to cum, but he can’t hold it, he can’t stop it--

\--But there’s no spurt of fluid up his chest, just his body tensing and twitching, his dick bobbing frantically against his stomach. Wash whimpers and strains, chasing a feeling that isn’t quite there, that isn’t quite _enough._

Tucker chuckles, keeping his hand pressed hot and heavy against Wash’s skin. “That was _close_ ,” he taunts. “Just one more, baby, you can do it. You gonna be good for me so I can fuck that tight ass?” he murmurs.

Wash nods frantically, feeling tears prick at his eyes because it’s so much, it’s too much, it’s not enough, not _enough-_ -

The last spanking cracks down low on his left cheek, palm hitting solidly against the inflamed crease and fingers curling around to catch his inner thigh, just shy of his balls. Wash sobs, body shaking as his nerves continue to crescendo, past the plateau of his not-orgasm, and then it’s over, and Tucker is turning off the vibrator and pulling it out of him.

Wash sags a little at the loss, whimpering and body twitching as it comes down from the overstimulation.

“That’s it, baby,” Tucker soothes, smoothing his hand over his overheated ass. “You took your punishment so good, you were so good for me,” he continues, pressing an open mouthed kiss on the other cheek. Wash gasps.

“So good,” Tucker continues, mouthing up Wash’s spine to press another kiss at the back of his neck, sucking gently.

Tucker presses against him, flush against his back, and Wash can feel the hot line of his dick against his crease. He moans, squirming more.

“Yeah, that’s right, you’ll get it,” Tucker assures him. “But let’s get this gag off of you. Wanna hear you scream my name,” he says, undoing the strap. He gently pulls the silicone ball out from Wash’s mouth, and it feels weird, the sudden loss. His mouth suddenly feels too big, too cavernous and empty, nothing to catch the small noises that keep falling from his lips as his body comes down from the spanking.

Tucker’s hands travel up his arms, firm and warm, and check how the rope lays against the skin of his wrists. “Is this still okay? Should I take you down from there?” he teases, folding his hands around Wash’s fists and taking the laughing button away.

Wash shakes his head, flexing his too-empty jaw. The rope binding him to the headboard feels like the only thing holding him together, a quivering ball of sensation and _want—_ if Tucker takes that away, he thinks he won’t be able to stand it. “S’okay, s'green,” he rasps, pushing back insistently against Tucker’s hips, shuddering as he feels his dick slide against his oversensitive ass.

Tucker pulls away, just enough to thread his fingers into Wash’s hair and _pull,_ teasing a gasp from his throat. He keeps tugging, until Wash’s neck is craned and he can look at him in the eye. “You’re so fucking hot right now,” Tucker murmurs. “You’re so fucking hot when you decide to be good for me.”

He brushes his fingers over Wash’s cheek, and Wash shivers. He drags them over his mouth and Wash obediently closes his swollen lips over the tips of Tucker’s fingers, sucking desperately. Tucker seems to get the message, because he releases his hair and pulls away, leaning over to grab something. The sound of the foil wrapper tearing open is hardwired to Wash’s dick, almost painfully hard and twitching against his stomach.

Tucker’s fingers press into him again, slick with more lube, and then they’re gone and before he can mourn the loss, Tucker is pressing inside, hot through the condom, and it’s so much better than his fingers, so much better than the vibrator, and Wash chokes back his groan even though there’s no gag keeping him from crying out anymore.

“ _Fuck,_ Wash,” Tucker pants, curling his hands around Wash’s hips and pulling them back until he’s bottomed out. He gives him a few lazy, fluid thrusts, and Wash melts back down into the pillow, groaning. “You have no idea what you look like right now,” Tucker continues, squeezing his hips. “We really gotta get the camera out next time. Spank bank material for years, dude.”

Wash begins to reply into the pillow, but Tucker picks up the pace, building up to quick, powerful thrusts that push Wash into the pillow, against the headboard. He adjusts the angle until Wash’s knees give out as he slams against his prostate, and then he tugs his hips back up.

“Tucker, ah--” Wash bites out, turning his face to the side. “Yes, yes, right there--right there, _please_ , Tucker,” he babbles, the final syllable of Tucker’s name coming out like a sob. He can’t see the grin on Tucker’s face, but he can practically hear it in the way his hips lose rhythm a bit at the plea, before they still altogether.

Wash fights the urge to scream.

“ _Tucker_ ,” he wheezes, pushing back impatiently. Tucker tightens his grip on Wash’s hips--a warning.

“Tucker _please,_ ” Tucker corrects, massaging his thumb against a patch of freckles on his hip.

“ _Tucker please,_ ” Wash whines, and he’s beyond caring about his dignity, thinks he might’ve thrown it out the window somewhere around spanking number ten.

Tucker starts moving again, painfully slow, and Wash _knows_ this has to be as maddening for him, too.

“Tucker, please _what?_ ” he asks, and there’s that _jeer_ in his voice again, and Wash thinks wildly that he might die tonight, that it’s possible to die from too much stimulation and none of it being _enough._

Normally, he’d drag his out, but he’s just too worked up.

“Please fuck me,” he blurts, squirming in Tucker’s hold. “Please, please please please _please--fuck!”_

Tucker moves again, grabbing his hips hard enough to leave marks as he holds Wash flush to him, pulling out and snapping back in, each thrust on target, sending white starbursts across his vision. He can’t take it, he can’t hold it, and Tucker hasn’t given him permission yet, but he’s going to _explode_ and he’s cumming, he’s--

Tucker’s hand closes around the base of his dick, just over the aqua cock ring. Wash _sobs,_ the pleasure cresting over him in waves that don’t break, that offer no real release, just more maddening, blissful torment.

“Did I give you permission to cum?” Tucker growls against his ear, biting sharply at the lobe. Wash gasps, a big hitching breath in between sobs.

“Tuck--Tucker, _please,_ ” he cries, his entire body twitching, hands convulsing against the headboard. “ _Please,_ Tucker, I wanna cum so bad,” he begs, arching his back, pressing back against every thrust, trying to chase the waves.

Tucker moans against his ear, and he gives his dick one more squeeze before fingering the release on the side. “Together then,” he says, voice shaky. “Come on baby, come with me, come for me, Wash.”

One, two, three more thrusts against his throbbing prostate and it’s _too much_ , it’s _just enough_ , and Wash cums so hard he screams, his whole body arching as he clenches, spurting all up his chest. Tucker makes a strangled noise behind him, digging his nails into his hips as he finishes, too. His dick twitches inside of him, hot, so impossibly hot even through the condom.

For a moment, all Wash can do is pant, nothing but static in his ears and at the edges of his vision. Then Tucker pulls out, and he allows himself to collapse against the bed, shuddering in the aftershocks and feeling as wrung out as if Tucker had squeezed him dry. He could just lay here, the sound of his blood rushing through his ears lulling him to sleep.

“-ash. Wash?”

Tucker’s hands find the rope around his wrists again, undoing the knots with practiced grace. Wash allows his freed arms to flop unceremoniously beside him, lets the buzzing in his chest and his ass spread there, too, as he melts into the mattress.

Tucker nudges him until he flops over onto his back, whimpering as the sheets rub against his abused backside. He thinks he can feel each individual thread against the abused flesh. It’s not just his ass--his entire body is alight, electricity sparking up and down his nerve endings.

Tucker tilts his face towards him, gentle, not with the proprietary grip he uses when they play these games. He smooths his thumb over Wash’s jaw until he cracks his eyes open, blinking in the light of the room.

“There you are,” Tucker sighs, leaning over and kissing him, gentle and chaste because his body is still reeling and it’s all he can handle. Tucker runs a cursory hand through his hair, smoothing out some of the sex kinks, before pulling away, but not out of Wash’s space.

“I’m going to grab you some water and run the bath. Do you want bubbles?”

Wash nods, eyes tracking Tucker’s movement as he walks out of the room. He leaves the door open so Wash can see him walk into the bathroom and hear the familiar sound of water splashing heavily into the tub.

He blinks, and the next time his eyes slide open, Tucker is climbing back into bed, propping himself up against the pillows so Wash can climb into his lap. Tucker lets him bury his face into his neck for a moment before nudging him with the water bottle, cold and dewy with condensation.

“You were so good for me,” Tucker murmurs, handing Wash the bottle. Wash makes a weak attempt at opening it, but he thinks his bones might have liquefied. Or skipped liquid and went straight to gas, because as sluggish as he feels, he thinks that if Tucker wasn’t anchoring with an arm thrown across his hips, he might float away.

Tucker snorts gently, pressing more kisses into his hair. “Here, c’mon,” he says, taking the bottle back and twisting off the cap. He holds it against Wash’s lips and lets the water trickle into his mouth, slowly so he won’t gulp it. A few stray drops spill over his chin, and Tucker wipes them away with his thumb when he moves the bottle away.

Wash turns his head back into Tucker’s neck the second the bottle is gone, and Tucker lets him, stroking soothing hands up his back. He avoids his ass, which is throbbing to his heartbeat, hot and sensitive, and rubs at his shoulders.

“Anything hurt? Are you sore anywhere?”

Wash grumbles a wordless reply into Tucker’s neck.

“All right, are you sore anywhere you’re not _supposed_ to be?” Tucker amends, poking his arm. Wash shakes his head, yawning.

“Oh, no, come on. We’ve gotta get you into that bath before you fall asleep on me,” Tucker says, moving to stand. Wash groans, but he shuffles to the end of the bed when Tucker stands up.

“Can you even stand yet?” He sounds so pleased with himself, and Tucker being pleased makes something bright and pleasant pulse in his chest.

“Prob’ly,” Wash says, pushing himself off the bed. He overbalances and stumbles, but Tucker catches him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, firm and secure.

They make their way to the bathroom, and Tucker adds more bubbles to the steaming tub before Wash climbs into it and sinks down until his face is the only thing above water. Tucker snorts and takes his spot on the toilet, close enough to reach out and touch if Wash would like. Wash grabs his hand.

They’d tried fitting both of them into the bathtub after sex exactly once, and it hadn’t worked especially well. Neither of them are particularly small men.

Wash closes his eyes against the quasi-darkness—Tucker hasn't turned the bathroom light on, just left the hall light on, because the bathroom lights are too bright for Wash right now. He lets his sore and tingling body relax in the hot, fragrant water, the bubbles tingling against his skin. He lets the static flood back into his ears, soft and almost soothing, until it fades and the tingling fades away—not entirely, but enough to focus. He doesn’t feel quite as much like he’s at risk of dissolving into the atmosphere the next time he opens his eyes.

He squeezes Tucker’s hand gently, and Tucker looks up from his phone. A grin spreads across his face, dimpling his cheeks, and he squeezes back. “There you are. Took you a while to come out of that one,” he notes, leaning forward and pushing Wash’s damp hair back.

Wash chuckles weakly, pushing himself up to more of a sit and less of a graceless collapse against the tub. He takes his hand back from Tucker to rub at his face, humming contentedly.

“That was amazing,” Wash says after a moment, looking back at Tucker.

“Yeah? You looked like you were having a good time,” Tucker teases.

“I did have a good time,” Wash confirms, nodding as he feels a flush creep down his neck.

When Wash is sure his bones have re-solidified in his legs, and his fingers and toes are all wrinkly, he finally drains the bath and lets Tucker pat him down with a soft towel, pressing kisses to his warm skin, softened by the water.

“How d’ya feel?” Tucker asks, “Little better about work?”

“A _lot_ better,” Wash admits, dragging a smaller towel over his face and hair. He peeks out at Tucker from beneath it, smiling nice and easy. Tucker’s fucked every ounce of tension from his body, he thinks. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tucker says, grinning. “Let me rub some lotion into your ass first.” He carefully slides the towel over Wash’s bruised backside and Wash shivers.

Later, once the cool lotion has been massaged into his skin and he’s rubbed some of it into Tucker’s back as well, they drift off, a knot of limbs and blankets. Wash smiles in the darkness, against Tucker’s chest, and sighs as he relaxes in a cocoon of scents—skin, Tucker, and lavender.

His ass will be candy striped in the morning, despite the thorough way Tucker massaged and moisturized his skin. His wrists will be sore and bruised, his voice rough and gravelly. And yet, he thinks just before he floats away, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can find me screeching like a banshee on ye olde [tumblr dot com](http://hakanakiki.tumblr.com)!


End file.
